


Chasing Cars

by NewEyes



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Resentment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewEyes/pseuds/NewEyes
Summary: “This was definitely a mistake,” he muttered to himself as he got into the car. What was he doing, attending an awards show with Mr. Peanutbutter?
Relationships: BoJack Horseman/Mr. Peanutbutter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 75
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	1. Awards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krisherdown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisherdown/gifts).



> A big thanks to htbthomas for the beta.

“This was definitely a mistake,” he muttered to himself as he got into the car. What was he doing, attending an awards show with Mr. Peanutbutter?

He’d been on set between takes when Mr. Peanutbutter had appeared from nowhere, talking enthusiastically. He only realised what he’d agreed to five minutes after the guy’d left, and m _aaaaybe_ the booze that he definitely _hadn’t_ been drinking on set had played a part there. It _was_ a nice car though, and it had that new car smell...of course, Mr. Peanutbutter was new to Hollywood. He remembered that first real paycheck and the feeling that you could do anything, time to go out and buy that dream car.

“What are you talking about? This is going to be great,” Mr. Peanutbutter said as he got into the driver’s side.

“On second thought, I’ll just take my car. I can be late, it’s fine,” BoJack shook his head, hand on the door ready to get out, but Mr. Peanutbutter turned the key in the ignition. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. What could be better than the stars of the best shows in town arriving together?”

“I don’t know, maybe showing up by myself with a hot date in a limo?”

“Well, there's always next time!” Mr. Peanutbutter said cheerily.

“It’s kind of weird, we’re both nominated for the same award. We’re not friends, we’re rivals.”

“We can be friends _and_ rivals, BoJack.” 

BoJack snorted. Sure, you think that, it’s easy to be magnanimous when you’re the one winning.

“There are plenty of reasons to go together,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “This way you can drink without having to drive, and you don’t have to spend money on a limo,” he said waving his hand. Like BoJack couldn’t afford the cost of a limo, jeez, sure Horsin' Around's ratings were steadily dropping but he still got paid the same, for now anyway. But before he could speak again, Mr. Peanutbutter carried on, “Best of all…you get to ride with a friend.”

Please shoot me now, he thought.

*

They stepped out onto the red carpet and a valet quickly came to take the car away. There was a banner above the theatre entrance with “Parents' Choice Awards - Make it Look Fancy” in gold lettering, but the banner was slightly crumpled. There were a handful of photographers, media, journalists but not as many as some of the other awards he’d been to. 

“Come on BoJack,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “Let’s go.” The flashes from the cameras were almost blinding, and sure, he was used to it, but being used to it didn’t make it less annoying. They stopped briefly to pose for a few photographs as they made their way towards the theatre entrance but the entire process didn’t seem well organised. Every time they stopped, Mr. Peanutbutter slung his arm over BoJack’s shoulder and every time he could feel himself getting tenser. The flashes from the cameras hurt his eyes, and he felt too hot in his tux and the warm LA evening. 

“It’s like a crossover,” he heard Mr. Peanutbutter say excitedly and he ground his teeth.

“Hey, BoJack! Mr. Peanutbutter!” a journalist called, and they walked over.

“So the star of the biggest show at the moment, Mr. Peanutbutter from Mr. Peanutbutter’s house! And...BoJack Horseman, right?” she said. 

“Yeah,” he said.

She then stopped and raised an eyebrow curiously taking them both in. “So...did you guys arrive together?” she said with the air of a journalist looking to get a scoop.

BoJack was immediately on guard, as if he hadn’t been before, and immediately caught her meaning, “No,” he said firmly.

Mr. Peanutbutter frowned. “But BoJack, we did arrive together,” he said, and looked at BoJack curiously, but then he turned back to the journalist. “And oh, I’m just so excited to be here,” he said. 

Anyone else and this would be an act, BoJack thought with disgust. But the guy’s actual tail was wagging. Jesus, how could the man be so enthusiastic? BoJack plastered on a smile.

“Absolutely,” he said. “It’s wonderful to be here nominated with so many fine shows.” Mr. Peanutbutter shot him a wide smile, and he felt his heart jump in his chest. What the hell? He shook himself to try and get back to normal, didn’t the guy know that he was just putting it on, that it was just an act?

“So you and Mr. Peanutbutter are special friends...say, like you and Herb?” her voice was mild but he could see a glint in her eye. She wanted him to fly off the handle, or say something ill-advised...but he was too sober for that.

“Mr. Peanutbutter's House is a great show,” he said with the same easy, practiced smile that he used on set. “Thank you for your time, but we really should be heading inside,” he said and headed towards the entrance.

Jeez, why was he still sober if he hadn’t even had to drive.

*

He headed straight for the bar as soon as he managed to get inside, and was surprised when Mr. Peanutbutter followed him. He’d kind of assumed that they would go their separate ways inside, but Mr. Peanutbutter followed him like a lost puppy. 

“What was that all about?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked. BoJack just shook his head. 

“Nothing, I’m going to get a drink,” he said brusquely, hoping that Mr. Peanutbutter would get the hint.

“Hey, me too, I could use a drink,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, tongue lolling out and panting slightly and drawing level with him so they were shoulder to shoulder. The foyer of the theatre was surprisingly empty, what even was this award show? He needed a better agent, one who could get him out of stupid stuff like this. Luckily they made it through to the front of the bar without anyone mobbing them and trying to talk to him. 

“Hey, give me a beer and…” BoJack looked towards Mr. Peanutbutter.

“Just a soda, I’m driving.”

The bartender gave them their drinks and they headed out of the crowd around the bar. Mr. Peanutbutter gestured and they found themselves a spot leaning against a wall, far away from the bar.

“So how long do we wait?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked.

BoJack leaned backwards against the wall and took a sip of his beer and with the bitter taste on his tongue, he felt himself relax slightly. He eyed the crowd, “We’ve probably got about fifteen minutes before they call us to sit down,” he said.

“Fantastic, this is going to be fun.”

BoJack rolled his eyes and sighed. “Really? I mean, is this your idea of fun? Hanging around here,” he said, gesturing around at the foyer, “and then spending hours sitting in a chair listening to all the other awards.”

“Well, I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

“And all the time a camera is on you. Show any boredom and people will write it up the next day; they’re just waiting for you to make a mistake.”

Mr. Peanutbutter’s face dropped slightly and he shrugged. “Well, sure, that’s not the _most_ fun. But it’s still just...exciting, to be here, meeting people” he said, though not as enthusiastically as before. “This _is_ my first awards show, I never thought I’d ever make it anywhere like this,” Mr. Peanutbutter looked around. 

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” BoJack said. “None of these things really matter.”

“Well, alright, why not just relax and have fun then? It hasn’t been bad, I got to walk down an actual red carpet,” his ears perked up in excitement.

BoJack wondered if he’d ever been that excited for an awards show, but he couldn’t quite remember. Surely not though? 

“It’s not that easy,” he said. 

“It can be,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, and the naivety made his teeth hurt, he could tell Mr. Peanutbutter really believes that. 

BoJack had only been in Hollywood seven years but it already felt like seven decades. Horsin’ Around was never going to win the Emmys but it could have won a shitty show like this...last year. At that moment he knew it wasn't even going to win this little nothing award. Ever since Herb left the show’s ratings had been slipping downwards. The parade of producers and writers that came through after didn't really understand what the show was about. Plus they took a hit with Herb, the public was fine with gay people as long as they they were off somewhere over there...not working on the show their kids were watching. 

So despite the fact that he wasn't going to win, he still had to be there at this shitty award ceremony nobody had heard of, just for the look of it. What was the fucking point? Their main competition was a cynical cookie-cutter rip-off taking advantage of their falling ratings. Before he’d met Mr. Peanutbutter, he'd assumed that the guy was in on it, but it was clear he was just oblivious.

*

“And the award for “Best Actor in a Family Comedy” goes to…Mr. Peanutbutter for Mr. Peanutbutter’s House.”

*

They pulled up outside BoJack’s house and Mr. Peanutbutter turned the engine off. BoJack felt drained, and _oh yeah_ , definitely drunk.

“Wow, just wow,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, looking at him across the car. In the dark, his face is half in shadow, but BoJack can picture the rest. “I can’t believe I actually won my first time,” he says, sneaking a glance at the trophy on the back seat.

“Congratulations,” he said through his teeth.

“I mean, the show’s only been going for a year, I can’t believe it. And hey,” Mr. Peanutbutter suddenly looked concerned and reached across to put a hand on his arm. “Horsin’ Around is a great show, I’m sure you’ll win next time, it must have been close!”

That was it, he’d put up with an entire car ride of this. An entire _evening_ of this. “Oh sure, and one day we’ll be the best of friends and hold hands and the world will be a _magical_ place,” he snapped and saw the hurt look cross Mr. Peanutbutter’s face.

He closed his eyes and brushed his hand across his forehead and took a breath. Say ‘I’m sorry,’ stupid, he thought, but he couldn’t quite make the word come out. Instead what came out was “You have to know why you won right?” he said though he knew that Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t. He wasn’t sure whether he was telling Mr. Peanutbutter because he wanted to help him or hurt him.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Peanutbutter tilted his head. 

“Why you won, that it had nothing to do with the bullshit acting?”

“But what else would it be?”

“You know, because of all of the stuff with Horsin' Around, with Herb...” he said, waving his hands around vaguely.

“Horsin’ Around has had a few changes, yes,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, “But this is a proper Hollywood awards ceremony, I’m sure people wouldn’t count that against the show itself.” 

“Oh come on,” BoJack said, ripping his arm away from Mr. Peanutbutter’s. “People aren’t going to vote for a show where the creator was caught having sex in a public place! And you know it’s not the _sex_ part that’s the problem, sex with a woman and it’d just be a quick slap on the wrist and forgotten about in three weeks!” 

“That’s crazy,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “People aren’t like that,” but BoJack could hear him faltering at the end. 

“You really think if someone like you or me was gay the public would just say, okay, fine, go right ahead making this family show! No, you wouldn’t work again,” BoJack said bitterly. “Maybe the odd TV commercial, but you won't get star on a family show about raising orphans.”

“They couldn’t just kick you off the show for that,” Mr. Peanutbutter said.

“No...not for that...but they’d find something. I mean, it doesn’t matter to _me_ I’m... I mean...women, I love women so I’m fine,” he said. He finally looked up again and met Mr. Peanutbutter’s gaze. They sat looking into each other’s eyes, and BoJack felt a leap in his stomach. His throat suddenly felt dry and he swallowed. Mr. Peanutbutter had a look in his eyes, slightly puzzled, but still enthusiastic and _caring_. 

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Peanutbutter said, putting his hand back where it had been on BoJack’s arm. The warmth almost seemed to burn him. It was too much. Why had they managed to get to this topic of conversation? ‘Uh, you know why’, he thought but brushed it aside quickly.

“Forget it,” he said and ripped his arm away. He fumbled for the door handle and staggered out of the car, but the weird atmosphere seemed to linger. He shut the door with more force than he’d intended, yeah, that had been a bit more booze than he’d realised. He heard the engine start behind him and for some strange reason he felt the urge to look back at the car, back at Mr. Peanutbutter, just to see...to see what? But by the time he turned the car was already halfway down the driveway and he couldn’t make out Mr. Peanutbutter at all.


	2. Halloween

BoJack rolled the egg around in his hand, feeling the fragile shell. He hesitated for a moment...should he? It was vandalism...did he really want to stoop so low? He thought of Mr. Peanutbutter’s smug face smiling and inviting himself in and the immediate answer was yes, he definitely did. 

The egg made a satisfying thwack as it hit the windscreen of the Quadrapporte. He grabbed another egg out of the carton and hurled it at the hood. The egg spread over the black and started sliding down. Awesome. He threw another one and he laughed but it was a strange laugh, more a release of tension than from true pleasure. Away from the party inside, he felt like he could finally breathe, every thwack against the car some kind of tension in him started to release.

He took another deep swig from the bottle he’d set down on the ground, and oh yeah, that was the stuff. It was nice to be out in the cool night air, away from the crowds in the house. Most of the carton of eggs was gone now, and he felt a brief pang of shame. But why should he feel bad for playing a stupid prank on Mr. Peanutbutter’s car? When every year he somehow forgot Halloween and was surprised by a hoard of people at his house?

Mr. Peanutbutter had disappeared somewhere off into the crowd pretty much as soon as he’d arrived and the partygoers had flooded in around him. He didn’t mind a party, he wasn’t some sort of recluse, but generally he preferred it to be attended by people he actually knew and liked. Okay, maybe liked would reduce the number of attendees by a lot, but if he could at least know the people, that would be great.

“BoJack?” he heard a voice, and he turned. He’d been so absorbed he hadn’t noticed the sounds of someone coming up behind him. Mr. Peanutbutter stood there and BoJack was very aware of the half-empty carton of eggs he held in one hand and the bottle he held in the other. He surreptitiously held them behind his back.

“Uh, hey...”

“I can’t believe you egged my car!” 

BoJack was pretty sure, through the haze of alcohol, that he had announced “I’m going to egg Mr. Peanutbutter’s car,” loudly to the room as he’d taken the carton of eggs from the fridge. But maybe Mr. Peanutbutter hadn’t heard that, maybe nobody had told him. He looked disappointed and a little bewildered, not much anger there at all...and ugh. A fight...he could go for a fight, he could definitely take Mr. Peanutbutter but disappointment...God damn it! Wait...maybe it was still salvageable.

“Who...uh...what…me?” he said.

“You’re holding a carton of eggs,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “I can see them,” he pointed. Okay...busted. BoJack took the carton of eggs and the bottle out from behind his back.

“Look,” he said, taking a step forward, and shit, that was a mistake. He caught his foot on a tile in the driveway and windmilled his arms as he tried to keep his balance, but he was still holding the eggs and the bottle and he was drunk. He lost his grip on the eggs and the bottle and they smashed on the ground in front of him. He followed them down with a thud and he thought he must have lost consciousness for a second. And then there was the pain. 

“Owww.”

“BoJack?” he heard a voice say, and oh yeah, Mr. Peanutbutter was there.

“I’m here,” he said with some difficulty, his face smashed into the pavement. The whole front of his body hurt and his hips ached though nothing felt broken. His face also felt wet, and as he shuffled he realised the bottle must have shattered and then he’d fallen on top of the broken glass. He lifted his face slightly and opened his eyes. A little blurry, but he didn’t think any glass had gotten in them.

“Here, let me…” Mr. Peanutbutter muttered as he managed to get an arm under BoJack and roll him over. BoJack felt himself starting to come back gradually.

“Hang on just a second,” Mr. Peanutbutter said and BoJack heard him unlock the car and rustle around inside.

It was only a minute or two and then Mr. Peanutbutter was back, “Right, I’m going to help you stand and then you can sit on the edge of the seat.”

BoJack felt a warm arm come around his shoulders and then suddenly he was sitting up. He felt another wave of dizziness but pushed past it, and with Mr. Peanutbutter’s help managed to get onto his feet. They shuffled together to the car, and then BoJack sat on the edge of the passenger seat, feet dangling out of the car. Mr. Peanutbutter crouched down in front of him, studying his face, and BoJack spotted a first aid kit on the floor next to him.

“Hmm, it doesn’t look too bad, I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, looking at him intently, and BoJack suddenly became aware that the entire front of his shirt was splattered with smashed egg, and it was probably on his face too.

“Face and head wounds always bleed,” BoJack said, and watched as Mr. Peanutbutter opened a pack of antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit. Mr. Peanutbutter held them up to his face and he felt a flash of alarm, “What are you doing?” he said defensively.

“We need to clean this up, then we can see the extent of the damages,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, and then he just started dabbing BoJack’s face. 

“I can do it myself,” he said, and Mr. Peanutbutter just gave a short growl that said he was not impressed by that idea.

“Ow...ow…” BoJack shut his eyes and tried not to flinch as the antiseptic wipes moved over his face. He felt strangely vulnerable, it was odd having someone take care of him like this; he could feel the warmth from Mr. Peanutbutter just inches away. He wondered what he would see if he opened his eyes, he felt the bizarre urge to just lean forward and…and what? What was he thinking? He literally had blood and egg all over his face and it was  _ Mr. Peanutbutter _ . Just a stupid dog who wouldn’t shut up and leave him alone.

“I’m still annoyed at you,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “Don’t think this gets you out of trouble for egging my car.”

“It’s Halloween,” he murmured. “It’s traditional.” BoJack could feel just the hint of a breeze and oh yeah, he could definitely smell eggs.

“Maybe for lonely teenagers looking for attention,” Mr. Peanutbutter said and then paused for a second. BoJack opened an eye but Mr. Peanutbutter frowned at him so he closed it again. “Well anyway, you’re going to pay for cleaning my car,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “And... even though this evening could have gone better... don’t worry, I’m still going to come next year!”

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo. 

“Your Halloween party is always the highlight of my year!” Mr. Peanutbutter stopped dabbing his face and BoJack opened his eyes.

“My...party?” he mumbled, as Mr. Peanutbutter sat back and eyed him critically. 

“Right, I think a few Band-Aids here and there should do it. The bruises will probably be worse, but probably no scar, I don’t think you need a hospital.”

“No hospitals,” he said, as Mr. Peanutbutter stuck a few bandages on his face with enthusiasm.

“Good job you’re not working right now, or they’d have trouble covering this with makeup.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Great. Thanks.” Did Mr. Peanutbutter have to rub it in? It was dark but BoJack thought he noticed...“Is that your face?” he said, gesturing at the remaining Band-Aids in the box.

“Yes, it’s me! They sell Band-Aids for the show, isn’t that great?”

“Sure...great,” he said. Another humiliation to really top the night off. 

“Can you stand?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked. BoJack started to try and get to his feet, but woah, things were still spinning a little and he put out a hand on the door. Mr. Peanutbutter darted in to help and put his arm under his shoulders. “Let’s go in together,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “I think you’ve had enough party for tonight.”

“Yeah,” he slurred, and they hobbled up the driveway together. As they drew nearer to the house, BoJack could hear the music and the people, together, laughing, talking and he could feel his pace slowing. As soon as he walked in the door like this there would be people asking him questions, talking, prying. Somehow he could feel Mr. Peanutbutter’s gaze on him, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. If his face wasn’t smashed up and his hips didn’t ache, he might enjoy it, being the centre of attention, but at the moment he just wanted...he didn’t know what he wanted. He couldn’t tell whether the slight spinning was the booze, the concussion or…

“It’s alright,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “I’ve got you,” and then they headed inside. BoJack just closed his eyes and let Mr. Peanutbutter lead him.

“What happened?”

“Just a small accident…”

“Hey BoJack!”

“Just going to…”

“What’s up BoJack?”

“Let him rest…”

The voices swirled around him but he ignored them as he felt himself being guided into the bedroom. When he opened his eyes, he found himself perched on his bed, Mr. Peanutbutter’s hands on his shoulders. He watched as Mr. Peanutbutter knelt down in front of him and for a brief heartbeat he wasn’t sure what was happening until he felt Mr. Peanutbutter unlacing his shoes. 

He groaned. He wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t look away from the sight of Mr. Peanutbutter kneeling in front of him. He suddenly had the absurd urge to run his hands through the golden fur on Mr. Peanutbutter's head and maybe even say something ridiculous like ‘who’s a good boy, you are...you are’. Then the shoes were off, Mr. Peanutbutter set them aside and stood up. BoJack lifted his arms and Mr. Peanutbutter helped him out of his shirt. He looked down at his bare stomach, bruised and larger than he would like, but Mr. Peanutbutter had already moved on. He stopped Mr. Peanutbutter’s hands as they reached for the waistband of his trousers.

“I’ve got it,” he said brusquely and Mr. Peanutbutter averted his eyes. He managed to wriggle out of his trousers, and then Mr. Peanutbutter pulled back the covers. “Get in,” Mr. Peanutbutter said and BoJack lay down. 

Mr. Peanutbutter drew the duvet across and as it settled over him he took a deep breath. He felt tired, and drunk and old...and taken care of. Why did that make him want to cry? He squeezed his eyes closed, and felt the pain in his face from the cuts and antiseptic wipes. There was a pause and then he felt Mr. Peanutbutter lean over him, and then brush a light kiss to his forehead. BoJack said nothing and kept his eyes tightly closed. But after a second, he heard rustling as Mr. Peanutbutter stood up, and then footsteps as he headed for the bedroom door. In the dark he felt safe to open his eyes and he could just see Mr. Peanutbutter’s silhouette in the door frame.

“Hey,” he said and Mr. Peanutbutter paused. “Thanks,” he said and saw a slight smile on Mr. Peanutbutter’s face, what little of it he could see. He suddenly couldn’t help himself and he added softly, “Good boy.”

“I’ll see you around BoJack,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, just before the door shut he heard “Come on everybody,” he heard Mr. Peanutbutter say, just before he drifted off to sleep. “It’s time to go home.”


	3. Weddings

_ You are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of _

_ Mr. Peanutbutter and Jessica Biel _

BoJack watched Mr. Peanutbutter pace with the phone up to his ear.

“Oh, oh no,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “Yes…well…if it needs…” There was a short pause. “Well, fine,” Mr. Peanutbutter said and flipped the phone shut. 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Apparently she’s going to be late, the hair isn’t right or something,” Mr. Peanutbutter sat down on the steps at the entrance to the church. BoJack hovered uncertainly in the entranceway.

“How long is she going to be?”

“Who knows,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, throwing his hands in the air. “And to think, our wedding planner told me that we would be so in sync!”

“I’ve been to a few weddings, someone’s always late,” he offered. “At least I have the rings,” he said, and reached into his inner suit jacket pocket, feeling the two bands there. With some difficulty he managed to extract his hand from the folds of the jacket again. “Uh, I hate suits,” he said fiddling with the collar. It was a tux, of course it was, and as was usual for LA, it was fucking hot. Even in a t-shirt in the shade it was hot, and he was standing around in several layers. He looked out at the church car park, the guests’ cars glimmering in the sunlight, it was a good turnout but then everybody liked Mr. Peanutbutter. BoJack was glad writing invitations had not been one of his duties as best man. He looked down at Mr. Peanutbutter, whose ears were starting to droop.

“I’m sure she’ll be here,” he said. “I mean, what’s a little longer now compared to a lifetime of marriage?”

“You’re right,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “Of course, I mean, she’s great.” 

“Yeah, you think everybody is great,” he said.

“I do not!”

_ ‘You think I’m great’,  _ he thought, which just proved his point. But out loud all he said was, “Hmmm.”

Mr. Peanutbutter seemed to pick up steam. “You’re right. We’re going to be together forever, if she needs more time for her hair, then that’s fine, ” he said, getting more enthused. “What sort of dog would I be to get disappointed at what I'm sure is just a slight wardrobe malfunction.”

BoJack didn’t think Jessica and Mr. Peanutbutter seemed particularly suited and part of him hoped that she wouldn’t show. But he looked down at Mr. Peanutbutter sitting on the steps, looking forlorn and jeez, Mr. Peanutbutter had chosen Jessica and committed, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned on his wedding day.

“Yeah, she’ll be here,” BoJack reassured him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

*

Half an hour later Mr. Peanutbutter’s white Quattroporte pulled into the car park, all tied up in ribbons for the occasion. Mr. Peanutbutter immediately hurried inside, yelling something about ‘bad luck’ and BoJack couldn’t help but grin. He watched as Jessica opened the car door and he could hear her faint laugh, the joyful laugh of a bride on her wedding day, ready to start a new life. He turned away and followed Mr. Peanutbutter into the church.

*

BoJack had been to a few weddings, mainly rich people he didn’t know inviting him so they could say the horse from Horsin' Around had been there. The weddings all followed the same script and this one was no different. He watched Mr. Peanutbutter stand and make the vows with Jessica, and he handed over the rings when they nodded to him.

Afterwards it was off to a hotel for the reception and luckily the wedding planner had done most of the work, so all he had to do was welcome the guests in. He smiled and shook hands and forgot names as soon as he was told them. He slipped into his TV persona for the best man speech, and the crowd ate it up. He knew how to entertain a crowd—a few jokes here, a few heartwarming anecdotes there and finally a toast to the happy couple. Mr. Peanutbutter sat with his arm around Jessica, smiling, and as he toasted them, BoJack suddenly felt like he’d lost a game he hadn’t even known he’d been playing. After the toast, Mr. Peanutbutter came around to where he was standing and pulled him into a hug. “Thanks BoJack, I couldn’t ask for a better best man.”

“Uh, sure,” he said, and Mr. Peanutbutter let him go.

The rest of the dinner passed slowly. He didn’t really know anyone, not really, and he was seated on the end of the long table so conversation was difficult. He was grateful when everybody had finished and they could move to the dance floor, at least then he was free to get up and grab a drink whenever he liked. 

*

He was sitting at the bar by himself later that evening when Jessica came up next to him and ordered two beers. While the bartender was pouring them, she turned to him. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hi.”

“Thanks for helping Mr. Peanutbutter organise all of this,” she said. “You know, when he asked you, we never thought you would accept.” 

BoJack looked up. “What?”

“Look,” she started and then paused. “Nobody was surprised when Mr. Peanutbutter asked you to be his best man, I mean, it’s always BoJack this and BoJack that, a girl could get jealous,” she laughed. “But we weren’t sure about you, Mr. Peanutbutter’s a good guy but he’s not always the best judge of character.”

“I said yes.”

“You did,” she said, as the bartender set the drinks down in front of her. “You know you’re allowed to like people.”

“I don’t like people,” he said, and by people he meant Mr. Peanutbutter, but shit, it came out in a way that nobody would believe.

“Okay, BoJack,” she said, clearly humouring him. Fuck. “Well anyway, I just wanted to say thanks.”

“I hope you’ll be happy together,” he said and he did. He hoped Mr. Peanutbutter would be happy anyway.

“Thanks,” she said and he twisted around on the bar stool to watch as she headed back to Mr. Peanutbutter on the dance floor. When Mr. Peanutbutter saw her come up with the drinks he smiled, laughed and then kissed her. BoJack turned back to the bar and his drink. 

*

The night was winding up and half of the guests had already left when BoJack looked out of the reception door and saw Mr. Peanutbutter leaning against his car. He walked out into the night air and headed over. 

“Alright?” he asked.

“Jessica’s just saying goodbye to her parents,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, and BoJack reached his hand up to loosen his bow tie, the night was pretty much over. He looked up. It was a great night, the stars were clear and bright and it was just them outside. Despite everything, he felt strangely peaceful.

“Have  _ you  _ ever thought about getting married?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked suddenly.

BoJack somehow managed to choke on nothing and he started coughing, it was a few seconds before he got his breath back. He looked over at Mr. Peanutbutter but he seemed serious. 

“Uhh, no.”

“Why not?”

“It never seemed like something for me,” he said.

Mr. Peanutbutter took a slow breath. “You know, I always thought about it when I was just a pup on the Labrador peninsula. The whole thing just seemed so perfect and I really wanted that, before I even knew what it all meant. Me, a wonderful wife, children running around.”

“Children?”

“It was all part of it,” Mr. Peanutbutter looked wistful. “But have you thought about it?”

Suddenly a memory he hadn’t thought about in years came back to him. BoJack had been heading to his room and his father had been in his study drinking. Most of the time he managed to sneak past the door successfully, usually his father was too drunk to notice or care. But that time he was unlucky. His father beckoned him into the office and he froze on the spot. He didn’t want to go in there, he knew whatever he said it would be wrong. It always was when his father was drunk or hungover...and he was always drunk or hungover.

“Come here, BoJack,” his father slurred and BoJack stepped tentatively into the office. His father’s office consisted of a deep cherry red desk with a typewriter, and several towering shelves of books. He noticed a picture on the desk, in front of the typewriter and that wasn’t usually there.

“What’s that, Dad?” he pointed at the photograph. His father picked it up and handed it to him. 

“The day I married your mother,” his father mumbled. It was his mother and father standing in front of a car and they looked young; she was in a pretty dress and he was wearing a suit. They were smiling. 

“I didn’t know you had wedding photos.”

“We don’t. No money for them, but a stranger on the street took it,” his father took a swig from the bottle. “Biggest mistake of my life that day.”

“You look happy,” BoJack said. 

“Happy,” his father snorted. “What do you know about happy? You’re a kid, you must be happy all the time, what do you even have to be sad about?”

“Nothing,” he said dutifully and looked down again at the photo. The glass frame was covered in dust and he wiped his fingers through the dust over their faces. He suddenly felt the strange urge to clutch the photo to his chest and run away with it. Somehow he knew if he handed it back to his father, he would never see it again. It was some sort of proof, proof that his parents had been happy once, that it was possible. At least for a split second moment in time when the photo had been taken.

“That’s right, nothing,” his father leaned forwards and roughly grabbed the photo back. BoJack wanted to yell, ‘give it back’, but he knew that would only get him a bruised face and a sharp word. He squashed the feeling down hard, better to just keep quiet. He looked at his father’s hands gripping the photo frame.

“Why don’t you have wedding rings?” he asked.

His father snorted. “Why do you think? We couldn’t afford them, we still can’t afford them. We can’t afford anything.”

Well, you can always afford alcohol, he didn’t say. But some of that must have shown on his face, and his father’s expression darkened. He tried to back away but his father cut him off.

“No,” his father said. “You stay right where you are.” 

*

Mr. Peanutbutter was still looking at him and BoJack sighed, “My parents were married and they didn’t get on. I don’t know if I’m right for that sort of life, being married.”

“Why not?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked.

“Do you really think I’d be a good husband? Maybe for a little while, but marriage is a long time.”

“I think you could,” Mr. Peanutbutter said and BoJack felt strangely touched. “If you decided you wanted to.”

“Maybe,” BoJack shrugged.

“Thank you for being my best man,” Mr. Peanutbutter said.

“It was nothing,” he said.

“People said you wouldn’t agree, that I should ask someone else. But I knew better, why would my good friend BoJack not agree?” There was a glint of triumph there.

How had Mr. Peanutbutter known he was going to say yes? He hadn’t even wanted to say yes. He said no to Mr. Peanutbutter a lot. No to friendly phone calls, no to walks in the park, no to nights out on the town, and yet he somehow ended up hanging out with Mr. Peanutbutter half of the time anyway. They were in the same circles, he told himself. He couldn’t turn Mr. Peanutbutter down without ruining his reputation, everybody liked Mr. Peanutbutter...but how true was that, really?

BoJack shuffled his feet amongst the gravel. “I guess you were right about me,” he said. 

“Yes I was,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, nudging their shoulders together, and BoJack looked up. “I was right, and everybody else was wrong.”

BoJack wanted to say ‘you don’t understand’. Right, but for the wrong reasons. But...maybe Mr. Peanutbutter did know? Most of the time Mr. Peanutbutter was just Mr. Peanutbutter; friendly, pleasant, exactly what you’d expect from a golden lab. But sometimes BoJack could catch hints of something else underneath, the guy wasn’t  _ stupid.  _ He was an actor for goodness sake, he must have some idea how to read people. BoJack looked into Mr. Peanutbutter’s eyes as they stood pressed against each other shoulder to shoulder, maybe closer than they should’ve been and his heart jumped in his chest, so fierce he was surprised nobody else could hear it. 

“Mr. Peanutbutter!”

They both jumped at the sound. BoJack turned towards the hotel entrance and Jessica was running towards them, an impressive feat with her heels. Mr. Peanutbutter moved away from BoJack, opened his arms and they embraced. 

“I’m ready to go, we can go, right?” she said.

“Of course!” Mr. Peanutbutter said. He met BoJack’s eyes over Jessica’s shoulder for a brief moment, but then turned away to open the door for Jessica. BoJack watched Mr. Peanutbutter help Jessica into the car, and they laughed together as her dress got stuck in the door but eventually they managed to get it all in.

The remaining guests came out of the hotel to see them off, and BoJack suddenly found himself in a small crowd. As Mr. Peanutbutter started the engine, the crowd gave a few cheers, and the woman next to him started waving. BoJack lifted his hand slowly to wave goodbye.

*

A few weeks later Mr. Peanutbutter sent him an email with the subject line ‘Wedding Photos!!! <3’. There were a few paragraphs of text about the honeymoon but BoJack really couldn’t bring himself to read it. He flicked through the photos attached. Most of them were generic and boring, pictures of flowers, people he didn’t know, trite boring staged things. But right at the end of the album, one caught his eye. 

It was him and Mr. Peanutbutter resting against the side of his car, arms touching, half looking up at the sky, half smiling at each other - it looked like it was taken from the door of the hotel. They looked relaxed and comfortable and there was just something about the photo, he stared at it for a long time. Eventually, he clicked print, and listened to the whirring of the printer as the photo appeared. It was a terrible printer, so the colours weren’t right and there were weird stripy lines across the photo. The watermark was still half across their faces but BoJack can still see them, him and Mr. Peanutbutter. He can hold it in his hands and nobody can take it from him.


	4. Yellow

“Right, you’re free to go,” the warden said. “Just sign here.”

BoJack scribbled his name on the form, picked up the box of his stuff from the counter and headed outside towards the main gate. The box contained everything he was allowed to take with him; some clothes from when he’d arrived, a small clay model that he’d made in an art class, a prop from their production of Hebba Gabba, his AA chip. Not much at all. He had to curl his arms around the box awkwardly, and as he started walking he almost felt like he would drop it. 

Part of him was surprised that they’d let him out at all. He’d just smiled politely as his lawyer went on and on about drama productions, AA, and his exemplary record. He wanted to go up to the judge and say, ‘Do you really think I’m better? You don’t know me, I’m still the same fucked up piece of shit’. But he hadn’t.

He started the long walk towards the gates, the box bashing against his chest every time he took a step forward. He could see a faint hint of yellow behind the gates and as he drew closer, it resolved itself into the shape of Mr. Peanutbutter. Mr. Peanutbutter smiled and waved at him and BoJack couldn’t help half smiling in response. He tried to wave a hand but it was kind of difficult with the box in his hand and he ended up doing a weird flappy thing. It seemed to take forever, but slowly the gates opened and he was free again. 

“Hey,” he said. “Hey," he said again and swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. Where had that come from?

“It’s good to see you!” said Mr. Peanutbutter, and they walked up to the car together. 

“Let me just put this in the trunk,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, as he unlocked the car. 

“It’s alright,” BoJack said, “I’ve got it.” He rested the box on the top of the car as he opened the passenger side door. “Thanks for letting me stay at your place.”

“It was no trouble,” Mr Peantbutter said, as BoJack grabbed his box from the roof and climbed in the car. “No trouble at all.”

*

It was weird sleeping in Mr. Peanutbutter’s house and knowing he was actually living there. He'd visited once or twice for a few parties so he knew the layout of the house, but something about living here was different. He was living here and planning to do so for the foreseeable future, and not just because he was so smashed he couldn't walk, let alone drive. It felt strangely permanent and something about it set him a little on edge, knowing that Mr. Peanutbutter was sleeping just down the hall. There were a few boxes of his clothes in the corner of the room and Mr. Peanutbutter must have arranged for some of the stuff in storage to be brought over. 

It definitely felt weird coming down into the kitchen to see Mr. Peanutbutter in an apron cooking pancakes.

“Hey BoJack,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “I made breakfast.” He slid over a plate of pancakes shaped like pumpkins, along with a knife and fork.

“Huh,” BoJack said. “How did you make these?”

“Oh, it was easy, there are so many things on YouTube,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. 

BoJack shovelled a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. “Wow, these are good,” he mumbled around the food, and Mr. Peanutbutter’s tail wagged. 

“They’re great,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, sitting down opposite him with a plate of his own. Looking into Mr. Peanutbutter’s smiling face, BoJack had the weird urge to shake himself. It was just so domestic and it wasn’t him _...  _ except apparently now it was. 

“Are you working today?” he asked.

“No,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “We’re on mid-season hiatus, and,” he said in a hushed whisper, “I hear from Princess Caroline the story for next season is going to be...” Mr. Peanutbutter mimed having his mind blown.

“I need to catch up on it,” he said. Suddenly he was intensely curious, he’d never even seen it. Did Birthday Dad really have mind blowing twists?

“Well...I won’t spoil you!” Mr. Peanutbutter said with a smile and BoJack couldn’t help but smile back. “What are you planning to do today?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we could go for a walk later?” he said and Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears immediately perked up.

“Walk?” he said, and BoJack could see a slight quiver of excitement, but to his surprise, Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t immediately jump up as he might have years ago. “Let me just finish this, then we can go.”

“Sure,” he said.

*

They left the house together and walked out to a nearby park, it was...surprisingly nice. He'd missed this back in prison and it was strange because he’d never been one for walks outside before. He felt strangely quiet, no one recognised them, or if they did, they kept it to themselves. LA was good like that sometimes, if you were in the suburbs, or maybe he’d just been mostly forgotten now? But Mr. Peanutbutter hadn't surely, he was Birthday Dad?

The grass was green and there was a small lake with clear water, in his t-shirt it was almost the perfect temperature. Mr. Peanutbutter did enough talking for both of them, and in the past it might have bothered him, but something about it was familiar and kind of soothing. The latest gossip, how so and so was doing, all the things he’d missed. Mr. Peanutbutter always did like parks, BoJack distinctly remembered a birthday party in a park they'd both attended, that Mr. Peanutbutter had talked about for days afterwards. He could see echoes of that person here, the way Mr. Peanutbutter moved his hands, the cadence of his speech, but when the sun shone on Mr. Peanutbutter’s fur, he thought he caught a hint of grey. 

Why had they never done anything like this before, in the past? But he guessed he knew why, he had been annoyed. He was always annoyed, and if it wasn't one thing, it was something else. Herb, Mr. Peanutbutter’s House, something about work or his acting...it all blurred into one strong feeling of annoyance. Mr. Peanutbutter was always slightly oblivious.

Or maybe young is right, though in age they were never actually that far apart, it just seemed that way sometimes when he’d been in Hollywood for years before Mr. Peanutbutter’s House even started. He still had that energy and generosity that BoJack never managed to summon in his personal life, not  _ really _ , though he could fake it well enough for a camera or a handful of people. For a little while. But for Mr. Peanutbutter it wasn't faking, it was just him. Confident, positive, generous with his time. Like offering to let BoJack stay at his house, ‘of course, stay as long as you like'.

"BoJack?" Mr. Peanutbutter said, looking at him curiously.

He realised he’d been staring just slightly too long and looked away.

*

There was a laptop in his room and so he pulled up the desk chair and sat down - it was a really uncomfortable chair and he made a note to get something better. Though that would be acknowledging that he was planning to stay for a while he realised, and that it wasn’t just a temporary thing until he found somewhere else. 

He logged onto the laptop and checked his emails. There were a handful of job offers, and already? It’d only been a day and he already had to deal with it? But he guessed everyone’d held off while he was technically in prison, but now he was a free man they were able to make official offers. Most were smaller parts, cameos, and invitations to appear on interview shows. He felt a strange thrill when he read through them, they still wanted him...he still had it.

There were a handful of emails from guys at the prison, mostly wishing him well on the outside, and huh, he hadn’t realised that they would care. As he scrolled through, there was one that made him pause, from one of the prison staff who’d spoken at his hearing.

_ “Hey BoJack, _

_ Hope you are doing well. Just emailing to officially put down what we spoke about a while ago. The prison service is looking to set up more educational opportunities and we think you would be great, you have a lot of drama experience and you also have teaching experience. Plus you also know what it is like to be inside, which I think some of these guys could really use, rather than someone who means well but has no real experience. _

_ It would come under the charity the prison has set up, so it won’t pay much and most of the money would go towards materials. But let me know if you’re still interested. _

_ Kind regards, _

_ Tim" _

Huh, so that had been a real offer and not just something to keep him busy in prison. Inside he'd been so sure that he was going to go back and teach. But in the real world it was different, and he suddenly wasn't sure. He'd been acting in Hollywood all his life and he was good at it, what would his life even be without it and who would he be? He tried to imagine himself without Hollywood, without Horsin’ Around, and drew a blank. It was only natural that he go back, but some part of him shied away, the thought of doing it all again, putting up with all the bullshit. He squeezed his eyes shut. Man, he could really use a drink. But no. No.

He Googled himself and searched for news, he knew it was a bad idea as soon as he did it but he wanted to  _ know _ what they were saying. There were a few articles about him getting out, painting him as some sort of monstrous unfeeling sociopath and he read it all and felt like shit. And it wasn’t that he thought it was undeserved, he knew he should feel shit, he’d gotten off so lightly compared to Sarah Lynn. He closed down the laptop and laid spread eagle on the bed, staring at the ceiling and following the swirling pattern. 

*

BoJack slumped miserably on a bench at the side of the boat, looking out over the water, the party going on behind him, trying to figure out what to do. Surely this wasn’t his fault? He hadn’t realised there would  _ be  _ a bar on the boat and he hadn’t even wanted to come anyway, he didn’t even  _ like  _ boats. He hadn’t factored in there would be a bar, which was dumb. For some reason, he had pictured a small boat, with maybe a small indoor cabin and a bedroom. Which was obviously stupid, because of course there were a lot of people in the crew of Birthday Dad, so the boat would have to be big, with two levels, a large indoor dining area and fully stocked bar.

Mr. Peanutbutter had sounded so excited…a casual boat trip with the crew of Birthday Dad! And if Mr. Peanutbutter was happy and looking forward to it, okay sure, he could just sit there, relaxing in the sun, mostly ignoring people and it would be okay. He could deal with it. 

He fingered his AA coin in his pocket, where he always kept it. He hadn’t had much opportunity for temptation recently. No alcohol in prison, and not at Mr. Peanutbutter’s either.

His initial thought was to just ignore the bar entirely and not even go near it, but shit, it was LA so of course it was really hot and he was thirsty. He just needed to get over it, go up there and order a drink. He would walk up and say, “one water please”, and they would hand him the water and he would leave. He tried not to think of the thousands of times he had walked up to a bar and said, “Give me a beer” or “Give me two beers” or “Just give me the whole bottle.”

He felt rather than saw someone sit down next to him on the bench. He knew it was Mr. Peanutbutter, just something in the movement, the pressure on the bench, the familiar smell - not necessarily bad, just Mr. Peanutbutter. 

“Would you believe it, Carrie from makeup wants to change my entire look next season?” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “I told her in no uncertain terms absolutely not, but she seems quite sure about it.”

BoJack looked over. “Crazy,” he smiled.

“I know!” Mr. Peanutbutter threw up his hands. “Well, we’ll see. I’ll talk to Princess Caroline about this, I’m sure she’ll get it all sorted out.”

“Yeah, Princess Caroline always knows what to do,” he said.

“She’s great,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “But enough about work, how are  _ you  _ doing BoJack?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked, flinging his arm over BoJack’s shoulder. “Enjoying the trip?”

“Uh.” He didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Peanutbutter, not when he’d seemed so excited for them to be going on the trip. “Sure,” he said.

“Well then, why don’t you come and join the party? I almost missed you over here?” Mr. Peanutbutter said.

“I’m relaxing,” he said defensively. “I was just about to get a drink.” Mr. Peanutbutter shot him a look like he understood what BoJack meant, what he was thinking. When had that happened, Mr. Peanutbutter understanding him?

"I know, I’ll go get us drinks,” Mr. Peanutbutter said and he jumped up and headed inside to the bar. BoJack watched him go bemusedly, who knew what Mr. Peanutbutter would choose, but he also felt a sense of relief. A few minutes later Mr. Peanutbutter returned with two glasses filled with a pale green liquid. 

“Virgin cocktails,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, handing over a glass casually. Too casually...and hang on, he’d  _ never  _ seen Mr. Peanutbutter order a virgin cocktail before in his life. Was Mr. Peanutbutter not drinking...to make it easier for him? It seemed ridiculous, but suddenly BoJack was sure it was true.

Mr. Peanutbutter sat back down next to him, but he didn’t put his arm back, and BoJack missed it. He decided to distract himself by taking a sip of the drink, but one sip and he almost spat it back out again. He forced himself to swallow.

“What is this?” he asked. “Is it…”

“Honeydew margaritas!” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “Isn’t that a great idea?” 

Uh...no? Obviously the answer was no? But Mr. Peanutbutter had bought the drinks, and sure, he could do this, it  _ was  _ hot and he  _ was  _ thirsty.

“Thank you for getting these,” he said through gritted teeth. “I was feeling pretty thirsty.” He took another sip and just about forced it down, honeydew truly was the Devil’s melon.

“No problem,” Mr. Peanutbutter said and they sipped their drinks in a peaceable silence for a few minutes. 

“This is nice,” he said.

“It is,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. BoJack looked out at the ocean, light reflecting off the waves and wished he’d brought sunglasses. Maybe they were in one of the boxes of his stuff that Mr. Peanutbutter had brought over from storage. Suddenly something about the whole situation started to nag at him, something that had been building in the back of his mind for a while.

“Why did you ask me to come and stay with you?” he said.

“You’re my friend, BoJack,” Mr. Peanutbutter said simply. “You’re always welcome to stay with me.”

“Really?” he said skeptically.

“It’s a big place, there’s plenty of room,” Mr. Peanutbutter looked at him, considering. “I invited you over a few times, back in the 90s, but you never came.”

“I was busy,” he said.

“Were you?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked, but like he already knew the answer.

“No,” he admitted.

“I thought so,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, and then shrugged. “But I wanted us to be friends.”

He thought about saying something like, ‘it wasn’t the right time,’ or ‘if you had been different’ but those felt like excuses.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“It’s alright,” Mr. Peanutbutter said.

“I will start looking for a place,” he said. “I’m just trying to get settled.”

“I just said you don’t have to,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, looking irritated.

BoJack snorted. “I can’t stay with you forever,” he said, though part of him didn’t really want to leave either. “Stuff happens like...what if you meet someone? Will they want to live in a house with washed up BoJack in the spare room?”

“I haven’t dated anyone in a while,” Mr. Peanutbutter said.

“But you will,” BoJack said. 

“Maybe,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, and then to his surprise he saw Mr. Peanutbutter’s eyes flicked up and down him...was he checking BoJack out? It was so bizarre it almost didn’t register. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to do everything the same, like I did it before,” Mr. Peanutbutter tilted his head. “But if you want to invite someone over…”

“No,” BoJack interrupted quickly and Mr. Peanutbutter paused. “No, I don’t,” he said hoarsely. Mr. Peanutbutter smiled, BoJack saw a satisfied glint in his eye.

“Good,” he said and BoJack swallowed. For one wild moment he thought they were going to kiss, but then, Mr. Peanutbutter stood up and grabbed his arm to pull him up too. 

“Now come on, let’s talk to some people,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. 

“I don’t think...” BoJack started as Mr. Peanutbutter pulled him up.

“Come on,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, and moved his hand to BoJack’s back, guiding him onto the main deck. BoJack found himself being swept along, but he couldn’t get his mind off Mr. Peanutbutter’s hand at his back. It was annoying, he wasn’t some girl that Mr. Peanutbutter had found somewhere, but he couldn't bring himself to shrug it off. 

They talked to a few people whose names he immediately forgot, but Mr. Peanutbutter seemed to know. Then they were talking to one of the producers, who pulled Mr. Peanutbutter away and he suddenly found himself alone again. He found himself talking to a young man called Raul, a runner on Birthday Dad who couldn’t have been more than twenty. 

“So, how are you finding it?” BoJack said. “Working on set?”

“Oh, it’s great! The hours are long, but I love making something that really matters and makes people happy. You’ve seen the show, right?”

“Uh, yeah, pretty recently actually.”

“What do you think of it?”

“It’s great,” he said, and the thing was...it actually was. The writing was good, Mr. Peanutbutter was great, the kids were great. The core of the show was the Dad’s relationship with the children, and it shouldn’t work but it somehow did.

“I  _ know _ ,” Raul enthused. “My friends don’t want to watch it, it’s a weird concept, but the critics love it.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I read the reviews.”

“I think we might even be up for the Emmys!”

“We’ll see,” BoJack said conservatively, but in his judgement, it actually wasn’t impossible.

“Any advice for someone new in the business?” Raul asked, and BoJack paused. He tried to think of something, something…

“I don’t know I’m the best person to ask for advice,” he said.

“You were in the business for decades, you must have something?”

How could he possibly sum up everything in a couple of sentences? What could he have possibly said to a younger version of himself that would have made any difference? Off to the side, he noticed Mr. Peanutbutter heading towards them.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey BoJack, Raul, what’s up?”

“Raul was just asking if there was any advice we would give someone starting in the business,” BoJack said.

“Well, let me think, work hard of course,” he said, ticking the items off on his fingers. “Be yourself, connect and network with other people."

It was advice young people received in all sorts of different jobs, but BoJack could name many people for whom it hadn’t worked, LA was full of them. Mr. Peanutbutter looked at him like he could hear BoJack’s thoughts.

"Well, what else can you do?" Mr. Peanutbutter asked.

“Thank you,” Raul said, missing the tension between them. “Everybody here is so nice,” Raul said, and BoJack snorted. Mr. Peanutbutter shot him a look.

“How are you enjoying the party?" BoJack asked Mr. Peanutbutter.

“It's not bad, not bad at all,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. "The dance floor is just being set up at the front of the boat. I was just thinking that we could go dance.”

“Um no,” he said and he could see Raul looking at them curiously. He was obviously wondering...they lived together, okay, they’d arrived together, okay, now dancing... BoJack felt all the old anxieties come rushing back. He thought he was past that? But obviously not.

“It sounds like fun,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, touching his arm to try and lead him towards the bow of the boat, where he saw there was a DJ and a group of people dancing. He immediately panicked.

“No,” BoJack said and Mr. Peanutbutter’s ears slumped in disappointment.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said, but he felt off balance, like he was walking a thin tightrope and one misstep would send him plunging into the abyss. Mr. Peanutbutter paused, just looking at him, as if trying to understand, but BoJack couldn’t make himself move. The seconds dragged out.

“Well, if you change your mind…” Mr. Peanutbutter said, and headed off towards the dance floor by himself. As he watched Mr. Peanutbutter go, BoJack felt himself getting angry, his heart started beating faster and his vision became a little blurry.

“I’m going to the restroom,” he said to Raul abruptly, and then headed inside. There was no-one in the restroom when he entered, so he just rested his hands on the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. Old, greying, he barely even recognised himself. He squeezed his eyes closed and splashed some water on his face to try and snap himself out of it. Part of him had wanted to say yes, he’d wanted to dance with Mr. Peanutbutter. It came out of nowhere, but he knew it was true. Sure, they both would've been terrible, and the music sucked, but it would also have been kind of great. He imagined it, Mr. Peanutbutter dancing close to him, grinning...but when he opened his eyes nothing had changed, he was just as old, greying, and also soggy. 

'It's not something you can have', he heard his father say. 'You're a Horseman, BoJack, don’t destroy our family name over some fool. Do you think someone like Mr. Peanutbutter would ever stay with someone like you? And when he eventually leaves, everybody will remember...they will know and they won't forget it.'

For fuck’s sake, he thought. He was old, his parents were dead, why was he still hearing them in his head? Why was he still doing what they wanted? Mr. Peanutbutter had asked him, he wanted to dance, and BoJack wanted to dance. Was it really so wrong for him to get what he wanted? Was it really so impossible...so impossible for him to be happy?

“It’s too late, too late for you, boy,” he heard his father say. He took in a shaky breath and then let it out again and tried to clear his mind and come back to the present. Mr. Peanutbutter was out there right now, dancing on the floor. He thought about the twenty years they’d known each other, and how somehow, impossibly, Mr. Peanutbutter was still  _ here _ , and still liked him. Still cared about him. Did you ever have something like that Dad, did you? Mom? He knew the answer was no. 

Suddenly determined, he dried his face with a towel and headed back out onto the deck. He headed over to the DJ, and there were a few people on the dancefloor, but as he scanned it, he couldn't see Mr. Peanutbutter. He looked and looked but he wasn’t there and he felt a crushing disappointment, too late, he’d blown it, just like he always did. But just as he was about to turn away, he felt a hand touch his elbow.

"BoJack?" Mr. Peanutbutter asked and relief flooded through him.

"Yeah," he said eloquently. "So uh, I was wondering, dancing...do you want to dance?" he asked.

"Really?" Mr. Peanutbutter asked, raising an eyebrow, and there was an unspoken question there, ‘if I say yes, are you going to run away again?’

"Yes," he said.

"Of course," Mr. Peanutbutter said, tilting his head slightly, and then grabbing BoJack’s hand and leading him onto the floor. Mr. Peanutbutter started doing an energetic bopping thing to the music, still holding his hand, and BoJack started a kind of weird shuffle. He looked over at the people around them, but no one was paying any attention, they didn’t seem to care. Or maybe it wasn’t a surprise and they’d already guessed, after all they were just two people dancing on a dance floor, what was so strange about that? He closed his eyes and relaxed into the music, feeling his movements becoming more fluid. Mr. Peanutbutter’s other hand came down to rest on his waist, and BoJack reached up and placed his hand on his shoulder. Mr. Peanutbutter’s t-shirt felt soft beneath his palm.

As dance partners, they didn’t really work. They weren’t doing any sort of formal step, Mr. Peanutbutter was still doing his energised bopping and BoJack kind of just swaying his shoulders to the beat. It probably looked weird, but BoJack couldn’t help the smile on his face and felt his heart beating faster as they moved together. The song came to an end and he opened his eyes as they slowed down so they were just holding each other. He was flushed and breathing hard from the exercise and maybe from something else too. He could admit that to himself. He saw Mr. Peanutbutter swallow, and he wondered what he must look like in Mr. Peanutbutter’s eyes. From the heat in his gaze, maybe he didn’t mind so much.

"Alright?" Mr. Peanutbutter asked, almost tentatively.

"Yeah," he said. The next song started, and he closed his eyes and danced.

*

It was early evening when they headed back to Mr. Peanutbutter’s house. 

“I think I’m kind of sunburned,” BoJack said, rubbing the top of his head as he unlaced his shoes. Mr. Peanutbutter peered at his head.

“Well, maybe a bit, give me your jacket, and I’ll put it away,” he said, holding out his arm.

“Thanks,” BoJack said and headed over to the couch. So...the party hadn’t been that bad, but the thought of doing something like that every day was a hard no. It was like the people there still seemed to see another version of him, good old BoJack, but he didn’t quite fit that part anymore. 

“Hey,” Mr. Peanutbutter said crouching down near the coat rack, and BoJack peered over the couch to see him holding a piece of paper. 

“What’s that?” he asked.

"I don't know," Mr. Peanutbutter walked over and handed him the piece of paper over the back of the couch. 

“It fell out of your pocket,” he said, and BoJack took the paper. He unfolded it and there was him and Mr. Peanutbutter leaning against a white car, both of them in tuxes and at first glance he didn’t recognise it. But as he started at the photo, it all started to come back.

“From your wedding,” he said. He held the piece of paper closer, his eyesight wasn’t as good as it once was, and yeah, it was the photograph he’d printed off a long time ago. A  _ long _ time ago. He vaguely remembered that night, but the only thing he really remembered was the feeling... wanting what he couldn’t have...Mr. Peanutbutter was marrying someone else. “It was an old jacket I haven’t worn in a long time, from the box of my stuff you brought over. I guess it’s been in there for years.”

He had a brief flash of panic, what if Mr. Peanutbutter thought it was weird that he had the photo, but Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t look angry, just thoughtful. “Was that my wedding to Jessica?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged and then said defensively, “It was a nice photo.”

“Huh, I remember, sort of,” he said and BoJack passed the photo back. Mr. Peanutbutter came around the couch and sat next to him, still looking at the photograph. “It was a great wedding,” he said, but he looked a little sad. “I really thought it was going to work out, that she was the one for me.” 

BoJack didn’t know what to say, but Mr. Peanutbutter barrelled on.

“And you know...if it was just Jessica...but four times?” Mr. Peanutbutter asked. “It must be me.” BoJack felt weirdly off balance, Mr. Peanutbutter was usually so sure of himself, it felt weird to be doing the reassuring.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not perfect, nobody is, but you’re a good guy,” he put his hand on Mr. Peanutbutter’s arm. 

"I think sometimes some part of me knew that they were never going to work, but I really wanted it to.” Mr. Peanutbutter looked down at BoJack’s hand and then back at the photo. “Why did you keep the photograph?” he asked softly. 

“It was a nice picture of us,” he said, and suddenly he noticed how close they were on the couch. So close...his eyes flicked down to Mr. Peanutbutter’s lips. 

“I always hoped,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, still looking down at the photo clutched in his hand, like he didn’t want to let it go. "That you...but everyone always said I was wrong, that it was a mistake. That you didn’t care.”

“I was an asshole,” BoJack said. “I was jealous.”

“But you also kept this photo,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. 

“Sometimes, you make me feel like anything is possible, even when I know it isn’t,” he said and then at Mr. Peanutbutter’s look, “What?”

Mr. Peanutbutter just raised a hand and rested it on his jaw, stroking his fingers there. BoJack felt his heart pounding and Mr. Peanutbutter leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to the underside of his jaw. And then another. And another. 

But suddenly it wasn’t enough and he was impatient, they’d waited so long and missed so much time. He leaned down and brushed their mouths together and Mr. Peanutbutter made a surprised noise. BoJack wrapped his arms around Mr. Peanutbutter’s waist and pulled him closer, stroking his fingers over the soft fur under his t-shirt. It was kind of awkward on the couch and he felt his back complaining but he still twisted to get closer, he wasn’t going to be the one to let go first, not this time. Eventually Mr. Peanutbutter drew back, looking disheveled, and BoJack felt a pleasant satisfaction there...‘hey,  _ I  _ did that’.

“Wow,” Mr. Peanutbutter said and smiled at him, and BoJack wanted it all. He saw Mr. Peanutbutter’s eyes flick briefly towards the stairs. 

“I know this is sudden but...” Mr. Peanutbutter said and nodded his head towards the stairs. BoJack wanted to laugh, was twenty years really sudden? “If you want to wait, we can,” Mr. Peanutbutter said and BoJack knew it was true. Mr. Peanutbutter knew how to wait.

But somehow he felt sure. It wasn't a loud feeling, like it had been in the past, where if he just thought it hard enough it would be true. It was something quiet and peaceful. Ever since he started living here it was there in the background, and it reminded him of being young, before Horsin’ Around, though even then he didn't think he'd ever really felt like this. 

“I’m sure,” he said, standing up and reaching his hand down to Mr. Peanutbutter on the couch. “Let's go." He could tell Mr. Peanutbutter was surprised and taken aback, but he was BoJack fucking Horseman and he could do whatever he wanted. And for once in his life, he actually knew what he wanted. Mr. Peanutbutter took his hand and stood up, looking pleased, but like he’d been given something precious that he wasn’t expecting. BoJack wanted to see that expression all the time.

*

A few weeks later he met Tim in a small office in a building on the same site as the prison. They sat across from each other, the desk between them covered with paperwork, and BoJack rolled back and forward nervously on the wheelie chair. It was weird to be meeting as equals; he’d seen Tim take up break up fights, be insulted and even one time take a punch. But sitting behind the desk, he somehow seemed smaller, more human.

“So...drama classes?”

“Absolutely,” Tim said. “We can get it approved as college credit. Confidence and expressing yourself well, I think that’s something a lot of the guys in here could use.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be honest with you, I can’t guarantee you it will make any difference. When some of these guys get out, they have pretty much no money and nowhere to go. A weekly drama class can’t fix everything. But there are things I can’t change and things I can,” he laughed. “I’m just a guy in charge of extracurricular programs with an extremely low budget,” he smiled wryly. 

BoJack thought about that first night in Mr. Peanutbutter’s house after he got out. The fear, the loneliness, the anxiety...and he didn’t even have to worry about money or finding a place to live.

“I liked doing it when I was here,” he said.

“Yeah, even if it doesn’t change anything outside, I think it makes life a little better inside.” Tim looked at him hopefully, like he knew BoJack wouldn’t have come unless he was considering it. It was true - he hadn’t even replied to any of the other offers - but there was still something nagging at him.

“Look, why me? There are lots of famous actors around here, surely one of them would be better?”

“Would you have done it before you were in here?” Tim asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“Helping prisoners isn’t exactly the number one charity option. Cute children, yes. Cute animals, yes. Cute…well, anything cute. Or illness, hospitals...that stuff always looks good,” he said with a twist of his mouth. “I’m no celebrity, but I imagine it’s hard to use this stuff for publicity when someone can say, “oh, that guy you’re helping, he stabbed my brother.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I told you it’s not going to pay well and it won’t. We have no money and lots of the guys won’t thank you. No one’s going to erect a statue for you.”

“You’re really selling it.”

“You want me to sell it?” Tim sighed. “The work you do will matter and make a difference to people here. Some of these guys haven’t even got their high school diploma.” Tim stood up and paced behind his desk. “I think a lot of people see prisons as somewhere to stick people and forget about them. Because they think people can’t change, that there’s something inherently wrong with them and they’re a lost cause. That they can never...become anything more and if you have a bad start that’s all you’ll have and that’s all you’ll ever be.”

“But that’s not what you believe,” BoJack said and it wasn’t a question. He met Tim’s eyes but Tim just smiled, stopped pacing, and placed both hands flat on the desk. 

“I don’t think that’s what you believe either.”

*

Two weeks later BoJack woke up to thousands of new notifications on his phone. He clicked through them... oh shit.

_ Mr. Peanutbutter and BoJack Horseman - Shacking Up? _

He rolled over and nudged Mr. Peanutbutter, until the guy was half awake and looking at him, kind of blurry.

“Do you know anything about this?” He showed the phone to Mr. Peanutbutter.

“Huh,” Mr. Peanutbutter scrolled for a bit. “Oh. I mean, I might have mentioned us on set but I didn’t think...someone must have gone to the press.” Mr. Peanutbutter scrolled through silently for a few minutes. “But it’s not that big a deal is it?” he asked. “I mean, what I see here is true?”

“But what about your show?”

“What about it?” Mr. Peanutbutter said.

BoJack thought the fear was long gone, but suddenly the weight of history fell back on him with a vengeance and he couldn’t help the jolt of fear. He was found out, they were found out. It didn’t matter so much for him, out of the limelight, but Mr. Peanutbutter was on an Emmy-nominated show. He told himself it was different now and prayed that it was true.

*

They got a lot of mail, letters from all over the world, and even more emails and tweets. It was overwhelming, and a strange mix. There were the people he’d always feared, the ones who told them they should be in hell, they should be killed and how could they be a role model for children now? They were the ones that accused him of corrupting Mr. Peanutbutter and he told himself that wasn’t true, but it gnawed at him. 

Then there were the emails that praised them for their courage, and told him he was a symbol for gay people everywhere. They didn’t make him feel as good as he’d thought they would. All he could think was... _ what _ courage? He hadn’t shown courage at all and it hadn’t been his choice to reveal all to the world. He didn’t blame Mr. Peanutbutter, and yeah, it wasn’t anything that wasn’t true, but it still hadn’t been his choice. The ones he liked best were the personal ones, the ones that were just some kid in their bedroom telling him they felt a little better today than they did yesterday.

He was on tenterhooks as the months went by, waiting for the Sword of Damocles to fall on their heads, but nothing seemed to happen. Mr. Peanutbutter was still his usual self, there was no talk about him quitting or cancelling Birthday Dad. There were rumours about giving Birthday Dad a partner on the show...a male partner. And the ratings stayed good. Well, not objectively good, the show was a critical darling not a smash hit, but it was doing well enough to stay on the air.

*

“It’s not fair,” he said to Princess Caroline on the phone, and it came out more raw than he would have liked. “It’s not like I wanted everything to go wrong,” he explained, but some part of him had wanted that. He'd wanted the public to hate Mr. Peanutbutter and for the show to fail and everything to go wrong. Why was it so easy now for Mr. Peanutbutter, when it wasn’t easy before? Why did the guy always get things so easy? The old feelings came back, jealousy and bitterness and frustration. 

He wondered if he had been wrong twenty years ago, would people have accepted it back then? The logical part of him knew the answer was  _ no  _ and that things  _ had  _ been different, but another part of him whispered insistently that the problem had always just been  _ him _ . If he’d been somebody different...better, stronger, likeable, not such a piece of shit, things might have worked out.

“Oh, BoJack,” Princess Caroline said, and she was always too good at reading him.

“I…” he stopped. He’d wanted it for himself. He’d _always_ wanted it but told himself there was no way someone like him, someone so broken, could have it. The lost possibilities stabbed at his heart, and he knew it was ridiculous, he had Herb as proof that it wouldn’t have worked out. But knowing that didn’t make it hurt less. “I _am_ glad that things are different now,” he said. “Not perfect, a little better at least.”

“Me too,” she said.

“But I wanted it twenty years ago,” he rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not fair.”

*

Eventually the media attention around them died down a bit and he managed to get himself into a routine. He went to the prison most days and taught his class. It wasn’t easy, but he liked it, most of the time. The day he’d come home with a split lip from a punch, Mr. Peanutbutter had threatened to march right down there and give the person a talking to. BoJack had managed to distract him, but only just. Time suddenly seemed to start speeding up again.

They were slumped together on the couch one Sunday afternoon when he found himself looking at cars on his tablet. He still hadn’t gotten around to replacing the old one. 

“I should really get a car,” he said. 

“We can always use mine,” Mr. Peanutbutter said.

“What happens when Birthday Dad starts up again and you need to be travelling and I need to be working? LA is not a walkable city.”

“You’re probably right,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. 

“And if you need a lift somewhere, I can drive you,” he said. 

“That’s sensible.” 

“Any thoughts on what I should get?” he asked, flicking through car websites on his tablet.

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” Mr. Peanutbutter flicked through the magazine. “You’ve had a few different cars over the years. Which one did you like best?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s time for something new.” 

*

“Come on, we’re almost here,” BoJack said. Mr. Peanutbutter pulled in his head from where it had been hanging out of the car. BoJack took a brief glance out of the window, and a fancy animated graphic with ‘The Emmys’ flashed across the screen above the theatre entrance and he pulled the car to a stop. He patted his hands across his head, smoothing out his hair and hang on, was his bowtie straight? He started fiddling with it. 

“You look great,” Mr. Peanutbutter said, and BoJack actually blushed, and what the fuck? Since when did he blush? Mr. Peanutbutter didn’t say anything but just smiled, and if anything that seemed to make him blush more. 

“This is going to be great,” Mr. Peanutbutter said. “Don’t worry, if anybody says anything I’ll-” He shook his fist and growled. It shouldn’t have made BoJack feel better, but somehow it did.

“I think we’ll be okay,” he said, and they got out of the car and stepped onto the red carpet. He handed his keys to a valet and yeah, there were the lights, the noise, the crowds...on nights like this it seemed like everybody who was anybody was here. But then Mr. Peanutbutter came round from the other side of the car and lightly bumped his shoulder and smiled at him. They stood together facing everybody; the actors, the fans, the press. Mr. Peanutbutter reached his hand out and BoJack grasped it tightly, and they walked down the red carpet together.


End file.
